


Solace

by AndreaDTX



Series: What's Your Fantasy? [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Rimming, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Normally, they spend their free time indulging their deepest, darkest fantasies. But tonight is about comfort, reassurance that their worst fears have not to come to pass.





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my SPN stories are pure PWP, but I’m proud to say that I actually managed to sneak a little plot into this one. Let me know what you think!

They drag into the bunker, slow, shuffling, and exhausted. Dean’s tucked under Sam’s right arm, propping him up, even though Sam tried to tell him several times that he doesn’t really need it. He’s got a mild sprain, from tripping over enchanted tree roots as he tried to dodge the monster they’d been hunting, and his ribs are bruised to hell. There’s a gash above his eye that doesn’t hurt all that much, but it’s still bleedingly sluggishly, despite using the tatters of his plaid shirt as a compress for most of the drive home, and he knows the blood down his face and neck is freaking Dean out. The ankle’s a little painful but it can bear weight for short periods of time. Dean’s reacting as though it’s broken or his foot’s been amputated so Sam doesn’t bother to tell him the grip on his ribs actually hurts worse than the ankle. There’s no point. Trying to reason with Dean when Sam’s injured is literally pointless.

Dean helps him down the curved, metal stairs and to the corridor where their bedrooms are located. The silence between them is tense and anxious, which is actually more worrying to Sam than any of his physical injuries. Angry, shouty Dean is easy to deal with. Well, not easy, but predictable and easier to soothe. So-scared-he’s-gone-quiet Dean is a whole different deal. It’s the precursor to mute Dean and Sam can’t let that happen. He’s willing to do anything to keep Dean from spiraling into that nosedive so he lets Dean lead him past their bedrooms down to the showers.

They’d been hunting a Jersey Devil just outside of Lawrence. Besides terrorizing the locals, it was concerning that the monster was so far outside of its native habitat. In their experience, monster migration was normally the first omen of real trouble. But it wasn’t as bad as it initially appeared to be. Or at least it was a different kind of bad. The Jersey Devil had been imported to Kansas from New Jersey by an idiotic, homesick Dark Magic warlock who was native to that area. Being an idiot, the warlock was eventually killed by his not-at-all-domesticated monster pet and the Jersey Devil set about destroying anyone and anything in its path as it tried to find a way out of the bounds of the three-mile magical warding the warlock had set. Sad, really. Had it been sentient, Sam would’ve argued for letting it go. But there was no way they could let a mindless and innately violent creature go, even if they could somehow get it back to New Jersey. So they put it down. But it definitely didn’t go without a hell of a fight, during which the damned thing locked in on Sam no matter what Dean was doing, hence Sam’s current physical state and Dean’s freak out.

Dean leads Sam over to the small bench just outside of the showering area and helps him sit. Sam’s just about to argue that he doesn’t really need to when his ankle throbs painfully. Okay. Maybe he actually is a little hurt. Once he’s off his feet, he sighs in relief and watches as Dean reaches into the stall and turns the knob. Water erupts from the nozzle heads on each side of the stall. Dean fiddles, testing the water until it’s to his liking. Then he turns his focus back to Sam.

“That sonuvabitch really had it in for you, huh?”

Sam nods faintly, smiling uncomfortably. Given the lore that Jersey Devils are the unholy culmination of a tryst between a witch and the devil himself, Sam doesn’t really want to dwell on why the creature focused exclusively on him, almost to the point of ignoring Dean.

“Arms up,” Dean coaxes.

Sam complies and fights a wince when his ribs twinge as Dean pulls off his t-shirt. His plaid over-shirt had been trashed when the Jersey Devil slashed him across the back. Luckily, the now shredded material had been thick enough that he only has stinging scratches across his back.

Still, pulling off Sam’s undershirt reveals the mottled bruises blooming up his right side, curving over his ribs, where the monster had thrown him against a tree. Dean hisses and draws back at the ugly explosion of purples, greens, and yellows, guilt flooding his eyes.

“It looks worse than it feels,” Sam murmurs. It’s not completely true, but nothing’s broken. Even if it was, there’s no cause for Dean to take the weight of the injuries onto his already overburdened shoulders.

Dean tugs at his waist band, investigating where the bruising continues downward. Without even looking, Sam knows that it’s spread over his hip and a few places on his thigh. Dean kneels in front of him, unlacing and pulling off his socks and shoes. Sam braces and lifts his hips to help as Dean pulls off his jeans and underwear, leaving him completely nude, wounded and feeling a little vulnerable under his big brother’s overly concerned critical gaze.

Dean chucks his own clothes quickly and pulls Sam to his feet.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

They step into the hot spray of the shower, Sam pushed to the front, Dean at his back. Sam hisses as water stings across the less visible scrapes and scratches his clothes had hidden. He closes his eyes a moment just letting the water work over his exhausted muscles, breathing in the soothing steam, letting the water wash the blood from his face, watching the pink swirl around the drain.

When he moves to get soap and a towel from the dish and dowel, Dean stops him. His hands slide down Sam’s arms, gripping them, raising them to place Sam’s hands above his head, flat against the tiles.

“Let me,” Dean commands.

Sam shivers. The positioning feels distinctly sexual, erotic, and he feels a surge of interest down below. But Dean’s clearly not really in a sexy time kinda mood. He soaps up a towel and washes Sam carefully, inspecting and cleaning every inch of Sam’s body, hissing in sympathy when Sam tenses as soap and terry cloth find abraded skin, clucking in concern when he finds other lightly bruised areas. Even when he reaches down to soap up Sam’s cock and balls, the motions are laden with care, feeling coddling rather than arousing.

Sam sighs and lets his head fall forward when Dean begins shampooing his hair. He even uses Sam’s preferred specialty shampoo that he usually makes fun of because it smells like toasted coconut. Careful fingers scrub at his scalp to make sure it’s clean and cards through his hair so it doesn’t tangle too badly. After he’s rinsed enough that the water runs clear, Dean helps him out of the shower, even more carefully now that he’s seen the bruising. Dean grabs a bath towel and dries him, wrapping the towel around Sam’s waist when he’s satisfied. He leads Sam back to the bench, presses him to sit. Uncaring of his own nudity, Dean reads the back of Sam’s bottle of leave-in conditioner. Stepping behind Sam, he squeezes out a handful and runs it through Sam’s hair, doing pretty decent job even by Sam’s standards.

“Stay,” he orders and steps back into the still running showers to clean himself. With nothing else to do, Sam counts silently in his head. Dean must have been counting as well because he turns off the spigot at exactly the end of the seven minutes recommended by the almighty conditioner bottle. This time, he dries off and wraps a towel around his own waist.

Sam’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling when Dean grabs the detangling brush from Sam’s shower caddy and moves to start brushing Sam’s hair. Dean who moments ago used a regular bar of soap on his own hair. Had he really scared Dean this badly?

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “I'm okay. I really am.”

“I know,” Dean answers, but doesn’t stop brushing. He keeps brushing until he’s able to run his fingers through Sam’s hair without hitting a snag. Putting away Sam’s brush, he grabs their first aid kit. Each of Sam’s scrapes and scratches are cleaned with peroxide, smeared with antibiotic ointment, and bandaged if needed. The gash above his eye is cleaned and closed with butterfly bandages. Dean wraps his ankle with just the right amount of tightness.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Sam follows Dean to his room even though he’s not sure which meaning of _sleeping together_ they’re about to do. Dean’s taken amazing care of him. He’s not leaving his brother in this weird headspace.

They end up next to Dean’s bed, both clad in just towels. Dean looks at him, a startling uncertainty in his eyes.

“Whatever you want, Dean,” Sam says. “Whatever you need.”

Dean nods and pulls Sam towards him. Lifting his hands to cup Sam’s face, he pulls him into a soft, sweet kiss that quickly grows aggressive, his slick tongue pushing into Sam’s mouth. Sam barely has time to take a deep breath. Dean keeps pulling his mouth back, drawing him into another kiss, wanting to taste his tongue, feel the warmth of Sam’s lips beneath his own. Sam can feel the desperation, the fear, the need for reassurance bleeding out of Dean’s pores.

Sam pulls back and wraps his hands around Dean’s wrists. “I’m here, Dean. You did good. I’m fine.”

Dean nods, licks his own lips. Hunger cuts through the daze that had been in his own eyes. He pulls off Sam’s towel, dropping it to the floor.

“On the bed. On your tummy.”

It takes only seconds for Sam to find himself spread out on the bed, legs pushed up and out, a pillow tucked under his torso so the gasping doesn’t hurt his sore ribs. Dean’s working his hole, licking and sucking, like a man dying of thirst finding a secret source of water. Sam whimpers as Dean’s wet, warm tongue nudges the ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax and open, licking and nuzzling as if nothing could convince him to stop. Sam grunts when a finger slides in beside it, curling, pressing, stroking, sweetening the whole experience. A second finger sends his hips rolling, grinding into the comforter, looking for that perfect friction. Dean doesn’t change his speed, keeps working his fingers in and out, licking around them, spearing his tongue in between when he scissors them to stretch Sam wider. It quickly overwhelms Sam.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sam cries out on a shaky breath. “I’m—Dean, I’m gonna…”

“Go for it,” Dean says, muffled because he doesn’t bother to break contact.

Sam tenses and squirms, grinding down hard onto the bed, clenching around the fingers inside of him. Dean rubs harder, pushing him until he cums with a harsh grunt that strips his throat.

“Gah, fuck… Shit…” Sam sobs, wracked with sweet, sharp spasms.

Dean pulls his mouth away, but continues thrusting with his fingers, gentling Sam through. His fingers only stop when Sam goes limp. Sam moans when they slide out of his body, leaving him feeling empty. Dean rubs him, massages him, hands working up and down his body, stopping often for kisses and full body contact. Sam doesn’t even complain when he hears a snick and the fingers are back pressed against his hole. In fact, he pushes back into the touch. Dean growls, kissing and biting at his neck, worrying more than one hickey into existence as he makes sure Sam is slick and ready.

When he finally lines himself up and pushes in, Sam fucking _mewls_ , shuddering with how good it feels. He wants more and pushes back until Dean growls again, wraps an arm around Sam’s middle and rolls them. Sam tenses, expecting the move to hurt his ribs but he’s surprisingly okay. Now he’s sprawled across Dean’s chest with Dean buried deep inside him. He tries to sit up but Dean keeps his hold around Sam, keeping them back-to-chest. He pushes his legs between Sam's, spreading him. The position takes away Sam’s leverage, gives Dean sole control of the fucking, leaving Sam at the mercy of Dean’s thrust. Sam shivers and goes lax, wordlessly understanding that’s what Dean wants.

Dean fucks into him for long, slow minutes, each thrust knocking a grunt out of Sam, contributing to the slow burning fire smoldering in his stomach. Finally, one of Dean’s hands slide down from his chest, past his stomach to grip Sam’s cock, and Sam cries out so loudly his voice cracks. At first, it’s just a firm hold, a solid squeeze, like he’s reassuring himself that even this part of Sam is whole.

“Yeah… yes, please,” Sam begs softly.

Dean kisses his neck and the hold quickly becomes strokes, fast, hard, rasping strokes, that drag from the base to the tip, up and over, rubbing hard over Sam’s cock head. Sam shivers and groans, widens his legs more, thrusting into Dean’s hand, chasing that feeling Dean’s silently promising, and it feels like his heart’s gonna explode with how hard it’s racing. It’s not long before he loses the rhythm because of how hard and thoroughly Dean is plowing up into him. He feels that familiar tingle at the base of his spine and he squirms with it as his body tenses and strains.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean nearly purrs, jerking faster and faster.

His body tenses, overwhelmed by the thick cock in his ass and the rough hand tugging and pulling at his cock. He freezes, gasps, his back arches up, loosing contact with Dean’s chest… and his body falls into orgasm, his hole clenching desperately around Dean’s cock, his own cock shooting in Dean’s hand, raining down on his own stomach to drip down his sides. Dean fucks him through it, intentionally angling his hips to nail that spot inside of Sam that drives Sam wild, squeezing Sam’s cock in long, hard strokes as the spasms slow, working to pull just one more twitch, one more spurt out of Sam. One more, one more, one more until Sam’s whole body goes limp. If he wasn’t already strewn across Dean’s chest, he’d have collapsed.

Sam feels languid, drowsy. But Dean’s not with him. He’s slowed his pace, but his cock is still hard, buried deep inside of Sam, keeping Sam’s body wide open, his nearly painful grip holding Sam’s hips in place.

“More, Sammy…” Dean pushes, the tone fevered.

Sam nods and intentionally clenches his mucles around Dean, drawing a groan from both of them. Sam’s tipping into overstimulated sensitivity but he can give Dean one more.

Dean rolls them and carefully pulls out. Sam hears the snick of the lube bottle again before Dean maneuvers him on to his back. With a soft hand on his leg and a questioning look, Dean requests permission to be in the space between Sam’s thighs, but he asks like a man expecting to be denied.

This position has always been a sore spot for them when Sam is bottoming. He doesn’t like the fragility of it, being watched at his most vulnerable. It’s why it comes up so often during Sam’s submission fantasy. But if Sam hates being physically vulnerable, Dean’s the same way about being emotionally vulnerable and he’s been nothing but tonight.

Sore as he is, Sam spreads his thighs, welcomingly making room for his brother. Dean smiles shyly.

Sam’s grunts when Dean pushes in. It feels good but it’s laced with a sharp ribbon of pain. It’s the slowest fucking they’ve done all night. Almost sweet. Dean pulls at Sam’s legs and Sam wraps them around Dean’s waist until they’re crossed at the small of Dean’s back. Dean fucks into Sam, a slow, grinding in and out, studying his every expression until Sam pulls him into a kiss, hot and sloppy. They fuck and kiss, kiss and fuck until Dean’s hips start to stutter and lose their rhythm.

Dean shivers, sobs out a wounded noise. Too tired to join him for a third time, Sam encourages him, meeting his thrusts, rubbing up and down his back, kissing his breath away while he thrusts through his orgasm until he finally collapses on Sam’s chest with a deep sigh. Sam’s legs fall from around his waist, leaving him splayed under Dean’s weight. He doesn’t make any move to pull out and Sam doesn’t make him. It’ll happen on its own eventually.

Dean tucks his head into Sam’s shoulder and they rest. He whines in displeasure when his limp cock finally slides out of Sam but otherwise doesn’t move. Sam wraps his arm around him, a hug Dean initially resists but then gives in.

They both pretend Sam doesn’t feel the hot tears running over his shoulder.

Sam’s almost asleep when he hears a soft sniffle, a hitching breath.

“Dean, I really am alright.”

“I know,” Dean says hoarsely. “I’m thinking about how long it’s going to take me to clean that blood out of Baby.”

Sam laughs and pushes Dean off of him so he can shift and stretch muscles that are tight and sore from being a human pillow. “My bad. I’ll know from now on to assume that all outward emotions are really about the car.”

Dean sits up, inconspicuously wiping at his eyes. He grabs a towel to wipe first Sam and then himself before throwing it in the general direction of the laundry corner. He nudges Sam so he can pull the soiled comforter to the foot of the bed and they both climb under the sheets before Dean turns off his bedside lamp.

Again, Sam’s almost asleep before Dean’s raspy voice breaks the silence.

“You just—you really scared me. When that thing picked you up and you went flying… You smacked into that tree and went limp… I can’t lose you. Not like that.”

“You won’t,” Sam promises even though they both know there’s no guarantee behind the words. They’re dangerous men who live dangerous lives and make dangerous enemies.

Dean’s apparently thinking the same thing. “Tell me a better lie.”

Sam thinks for a moment. “And they fought and they fought until they killed all the monsters. Then they returned to their castle and fucked until they were exhausted and everyone lived happily ever after. The end.”

Dean laughs which pleases Sam to no end. “Lame, but I’ll take it.”

He wraps an arm around Sam and snuggles into his back. Sam waits until Dean's breath evens out before allowing himself to truly fall asleep.

They'd slain the monster.

And fucked until they were exhausted.

And they’re happy for now.


End file.
